


Wandering in Blank Space

by unchartedstars



Series: if to change is what you need, you can change right next to me [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Choi San-centric, Growing Up Together, M/M, Trope Subversion, side yungi in the second chapter yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-15 13:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18074186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unchartedstars/pseuds/unchartedstars
Summary: He knows how others view their relationship. He’s seen the pitying looks from their parents, the mocking stares from classmates, the eyebrows raised in disapproval from teachers. In a world where your perfect match is so easily accessible, why would you settle for less?The question makes San laugh, because anyone other than Yeosang will always be settling for less.(or, Everyone is born with an unfinished image painted onto their skin, and your soulmate is thought to possess the other half. San thinks love can be found in other ways.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Blank Tapes by From Indian Lakes

San is six when he first learns about soulmates, even if he doesn’t know the word.

A storm is raging outside of his bedroom, deafening claps of thunder vibrating his window and flashes of lightning shining across his walls in frightening bursts. His curtains do nothing to shield him from it, and his blankets feel thin and cold against his body. By the time his mother comes in to check on him, his small fists are trembling from where they press his pillow against his face.

“Honey, no, you’ll suffocate if you keep doing that!” Her words are chastising, but her hands are gentle as they pry his hands away from the pillow and lift it away from his face. She thumbs away the tears on his cheeks and motions for him to scoot over. Once she’s sat on the mattress, she tugs his shaking body under the safety of her arm and encourages him to lay his head on her chest. He curls toward her, eyes frozen on the window as another flare of light strikes through the curtain. He feels a finger hook under his chin and pull his head upwards.

His mother smiles at him comfortingly and pushes his matted, sweaty hair out of his eyes. “The weather is pretty scary right now, huh?”

San nods and scrunches his eyes closed, his whole face sticky from crying. He feels dampness on his neck and under his arms, and he wants it to just go away because he feels gross and scared and _so tired_.

His mother hums in response, running a hand up and down his arm as she brings him closer to her. She speaks softly, “It’s just the sky throwing a temper tantrum. It doesn’t want to sleep yet, but maybe if we tell it a story, it’ll calm down.”

He thinks for a moment. Stories usually help him when he’s upset so maybe they’ll help the sky, too. He nods at her in confirmation. She smiles before tilting her head in thought.

“Oh,” she says as she snaps her fingers, “I know just the one.”

He looks up at her curiously.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl. She lived all alone in a house at the edge of a forest and she was very sad. No one ever came to visit her, so she was used to feeling lonely. The only thing that kept her smiling every day was the picture on her arm.”

“A picture?” San couldn’t help asking. How could a picture make you happy?

His mother nods. “Well, this was a very special picture. She thought it might be a sailboat, but half of it was missing so she could only guess.”

San’s eyebrows furrow because that doesn’t make any sense. “I don’t get it.”

“She didn’t either, actually. For a while, she would look at this picture on her arm and wonder where the other half of it was. But eventually that wonder turned into hope; maybe she didn’t have the whole picture because she was sharing it with someone else. And if that was true, then that meant she wasn’t really alone.”

“But how’d she know she was sharing it?”

“Do you want to hear the rest?” She looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and he immediately presses his lips together sheepishly. He twists his fingers at the corner of his mouth in an imitation of a key going into a lock and waits for her to continue.

His mother laughs and squeezes his shoulder. “So every day, she would look out her window and watch the birds fly through the trees and she would rub her thumb over the picture on her arm. She could feel it, in her heart, that the other part of that sailboat was with someone else. And even if they weren’t with her right then, she hoped that one day soon they would be.

“One morning, she heard a crash outside. She ran down the stairs and opened her window, trying to figure out what caused the noise. She couldn’t see anything, but something in her gut told her she needed to go find out. So she put on her shoes and ran outside and into the forest.

“Surprisingly, she found a boy. He was lying on the ground beneath a tree and at first she thought he was sleeping. But when she touched his shoulder, he opened his eyes and looked at her in pain. When she asked why he was on the ground, he said he’d been trying to climb the tree, but he fell.”

San’s eyes widen as he listens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

His mother continues, “After she heard what he did, she smacked his shoulder and asked why he would be that dumb. He’d only smiled at her and said he liked doing things that seemed impossible.”

“The girl wasn’t very good at talking to other people, but she didn’t want to leave him by himself in case he was hurt. So she invited him back to her house and made him some tea. They talked about all sorts of things and soon the girl found herself thinking that maybe she’d made a friend. She didn’t think that talking to someone else could be so easy.

“When the boy said he had to leave, she was sad and afraid of being alone again. But then the boy promised that he would come back and she let him leave with the hope that she’d see him again. And, just as he said, the boy came back the next day and the day after that. He’d come to her house every day. They would talk and have tea and before the girl knew it, she had a friend.

“She’d been so happy talking to her new friend that she forgot all about the picture on her arm. But one day, the boy asked if he could share a secret with her. She said yes and was so surprised when he showed her an unfinished picture of a sailboat on his ankle that she couldn’t say a word. That was the day she knew she would live happily ever after.”

San stares at his mother, waiting for her to continue. When she doesn’t say anything else, he frowns. “But wait, why did he have the other part of the picture? What’s it mean?”

His mother doesn’t say anything at first, but finally she sighs and looks at him thoughtfully. “It’s something you’ll learn about in a few years.”

That is probably his least favorite sentence in the whole world. Why does he have to wait when she could just tell him now? Thunder forgotten, he scoots up the bed, moving out from under her arm and folding his legs beneath himself. Pressing his palms against his thighs, he leans forward and gives her his best and saddest look. He even juts his lip out a little bit for good measure.

He’s met with determined eyes, his mother’s mouth drawn into a straight line. Their staring game lasts for a few moments and just when he wonders whether he needs to bring out some tears, he sees her gaze drop away from him. He pumps his fists in the air, grin stretched across his face. (He won’t admit it, but he’s a little relieved. He still feels a little sticky and gross from before; crying doesn’t sound like a good idea.)

“Okay,” his mother starts, sitting up fully and turning to face him, “you’ll hear more about this when you’re older, but I guess since you’re such a smart boy, you can know a little bit more now.”

His interest peaked, he nods in anticipation.

Slowly, he watches as she pulls up the hem of her night shirt. There on the side of her waist and disappearing into the band of her pajama pants is what looks like a drawing of some loose flowers piled together. He takes in the blended hues of purple and orange and yellow, the way that the petals bleed into each other and seem to fit against her skin like they belong, as if they grew as naturally as she did.

“Pretty,” he breathes out, eyes wide.

When he looks up, he sees the soft smile on her face, the corners of her lips pulled up and creating a gentle curve; it’s a look he recognizes. It’s the look she has when she’s happy, like the times she’s taken him to the playground or when his father hugs her before he leaves for work.

She grasps his wrist and brings his fingers to the drawing, letting him trace over it. He hears her speak in a low whisper as if she’s telling him a secret, “it wasn’t always this pretty, honey. It wasn’t until I met your daddy that I got to see what all the flowers looked like.”

His eyes snap up to her in wonder. “Really? Like the girl with the sailboat?”

“Yes, like the girl with the sailboat,” she says with a huff of laughter. The corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles again. “When you’re older, you’re going to have your own piece of a picture. Then you wait until you find that person who can finish it for you.”

San feels his grin widen in excitement. He quickly checks over his own body, pulling at his sleeves and looking down all the way to his toes. His eyes dim when he fails to find anything. Noticing his disappointment, his mother pulls him against her in another hug.

“Not yet, baby. But I promise that you’re going to have it when you’re older, and it’ll help you find your own happily ever after.”

Burying his face into her shoulder, he holds her tight and shuts his eyes.

That night he dreams of flowers and sailboats and boys falling from trees.

********

San is ten when he learns the word by its objective definition.

He’s sitting on the pavement of the schoolyard and racing his matchbox cars over the rough surface, mouth forming explosion sounds when the plastic wheels hit a rock and a car flips upside down. One gets away from him and lands in the grass a few feet away. He quickly scrambles to his feet and runs over to retrieve it before one of his classmates can steal it.

He’s in the middle of situating himself back where he was when the teacher calls for them to come back inside. He huffs a little, but collects them and follows everyone else back into the classroom. Once his cars are dumped back into his bag, he sits at his desk and waits for the teacher to start talking about whatever they’re learning next. He thinks it might be history or geography.

“Okay! We have a special topic for today,” Mrs. Jung’s eyes drift from one side of the classroom to the other before she continues, “it’s something special that all of you will experience. Soulmates.”

San sits up straight at that, because that’s a word that has been talked about among his classmates since the beginning of the year when Junghan told everyone about his older sister bringing home a boy she bumped into on a train. Apparently they each carried half of a painting of a sunset. Of course this hadn’t been any real news to San, but the part where Junghan had overheard his mom say the word “soulmate” had been something new to him.

The rest of the class quiets down shortly afterwards and Mrs. Jung smiles knowingly at their curiosity. It seems like a pretty common thing for parents to refuse answering too much about the topic when asked by their kids. Finally getting some answers made school a hundred times more interesting.

Mrs. Jung walks over to her desk and opens a drawer. She pulls out a stack of  papers and quietly hands them over to Seunghee, who passes them to the student behind her. San snatches up the pile when it reaches him and haphazardly shoves it into the hands of the person in front of him. He looks at his own sheet and quickly scans it.

It’s colorful with bright lettering in large, bold font. At the top is the word “soulmate” in capital letters, a smiley face stamped in yellow on either side. There are a few pictures below. The first is of a girl sitting by herself on a bench and looking sad, half of a cartoon sun on her arm. The next picture is of a boy standing in a field, also looking sad with half of a cartoon sun on his arm. The final picture shows the two of them holding hands and smiling. Each sun is complete, and the word “found” hangs over their heads in red.

San tilts his head as he studies it, memories of the story his mother told him now pulled to the forefront of his mind.

“Alright, everyone have a paper?” Mrs. Jung sits against the edge of her desk and waits for the messy blend of yeses to fade. “Then we can get started! If you look at the paper in your hand, you’ll see a comic that explains pretty simply what happens when two soulmates meet.

“What is a soulmate, though? Think of a pizza. When you cut it down the middle, you’re left with two halves. Put them together and you have a whole pizza, but move them away from each other and you just have two incomplete parts. So, right now, you guys are just one half of a whole. When you find the other half, it’s like fitting two pieces together.”

A hand shoots up from the back of the room. “I don’t get it. Are we broken?”

Mrs. Jung laughs, though San doesn’t really understand what’s so funny. This sounds a lot scarier than how his mom described it a few years ago. “No, you’re not broken. You’re just growing. That’s where the pictures come in.”

San leans forward, waiting for her to continue.

“When you turn fifteen, half of a picture will show up on a part of your body. Somewhere else, someone will have the other half of your picture on their body. When you meet for the first time and see their half, your pictures will finish themselves. Then you’re done growing!”

Confused murmurs build among San’s classmates, but he just stares down at the pictures on the paper.

Mrs. Jung continues explaining, but San decides to tune her out. He hears a few pieces of her speech, things like “registering your picture” and “the search,” but he can’t seem to get past the expressions of the people on his paper. He looks at the frowns on their faces while they’re alone. They look so sad and he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t feel sad right now. Is he going to feel sad when he gets his picture?

If that’s the case, he doesn’t think he wants it.

“Hey, San!”

He looks over to the desk next to his. Jihoon’s eyes are wide and excited as he whispers, “Isn’t this cool? It’s like a treasure hunt.”

San raises an eyebrow and thinks about it. A treasure hunt? Well, that sounds a little cooler than being half of a pizza. He offers Jihoon a contemplative nod. As an afterthought, he leans over and whispers, “Maybe you should explain this instead. Mrs. Jung never makes any sense.”

Jihoon giggles behind his hand and shakes his head.

“Alright, that’s all we’ll be going over. As you all get older, you’ll learn more about what it means to have a soulmate and the steps you’ll be expected to follow when the time comes. For now, I hope you learned something and are excited for your futures!” Mrs. Jung walks back to the chalkboard, “Now, then! Let’s move on to some spelling!”

San glances at his paper again. Furrowing his eyebrows, he folds it in half and shoves it between the pages of his notebook. He tries his best to replace frowns and gloomy skies with maps and treasure chests, open waters and glittering gold.

********

San is twelve when he meets Kang Yeosang.

He flies up the street at neck-break speed, legs burning from the intensity of his pedaling and hands cramping from their grip on the handlebars. His helmet slips down his forehead a little bit, but he ignores it and leans forward, air whistling past his ears and making his eyes tear up. When his house comes into view, he prepares himself and stalls the pedals, all of his focus on keeping balance as the wheels skid.

Once he’s stopped enough, he jumps from the seat and lets the bike fall onto the ground. He quickly takes the stop watch out of his pocket and presses his thumb against the top button.

2 minutes 43 seconds.

Pumping his fists in the air, he lets out an excited shout and pulls his walkie-talkie out of his backpack.

“Suck it, Choi! I made it home in under three minutes,” San cackles at the angry shouts that crackle through the speaker in response. They’ve been betting the last few weekends on whether San can travel the distance between their apartment complexes in under four minutes, and Jongho’s been getting a little too comfortable in his victories. San’s calves might be sore and his lungs might be on fire but the sweet sound of Jongho’s defeat is well worth it.

He’s about to brag further when he notices the large moving truck parked on the side of the road. His neighbors had moved a few months ago and he wonders if it's been leased to someone else already. He cups his hand around the walkie-talkie and says lowly, “Gotta go, Choi, over and out.”

Switching it off and shoving it back into his bag, San locks up his bike and enters the building, taking the elevator up to his floor. He sees boxes piled up by the open door of an apartment down the hall. Once inside his own apartment, he hears voices drifting from the direction of the kitchen and quietly follows them. Peeking around the door frame, his eyes find a woman he’s never seen before sitting next to his mother at the kitchen table. They’re both laughing, hands wrapped around two of his mom’s favorite blue mugs.

It only takes a few seconds for his mom to notice him standing awkwardly in the doorway. She waves her hand at him and says, “Oh, honey, come here! This is Mrs. Kang, her family just moved in next door! Come say hi!”

Mrs. Kang looks over at him and smiles kindly, eyes almost disappearing with it. San steps forward and gives her a smile in return, “Nice to meet you, ma’am, I’m San.”

She laughs at his formal greeting and shakes her head, “Nice to meet you as well, San. You know, I have a son that’s your age! He’s helping his dad move some boxes inside right now, I think.”

San’s mom perks up at that and gives him a pointed look, eyebrows raised expectantly. He sighs quietly, already knowing what she wants him to do. He looks back over at Mrs. Kang and sticks his thumb over his shoulder, “I can go help him out.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! I’m sure you’d get along with Yeosang, he’s a really sweet kid,” Mrs. Kang’s voice is warm with pride as she says this, and San would be lying if he said he wasn’t inclined to believe her.

Why not? He’s always up for making new friends.

He nods and backs out of the kitchen, giving them a short wave and making his way out of the apartment.

Once he’s back in the hallway, he takes his time walking over to the open door. He stops in front of a pile of boxes and sticks his hands in his pockets, looking around curiously. He hears a soft grunt from the other side that makes him crane his head a little higher in an attempt to see over the boxes, but his eyes find nothing. Another grunt makes him curious enough to move around them to find the source.

He stares at the kid hunched over a large cardboard box on the ground, small back heaving with every breath and short arms straining to wrap around it. He doesn’t say anything at first and just watches the kid struggle to gain purchase on the cardboard. What could be inside that it’s this much of a challenge to lift it?

He can’t find an answer himself, so he decides to ask, “What’s in there?”

The kid yelps and falls forward, chest against the top of the box and knees knocking into the floor. San winces and moves toward him in apology, but when he tries to hook a hand around the other’s elbow to help him up, he’s pushed away. The kid finally looks up with an angry glare and, oh.

Oh.

The kid has a cute face; round cheeks and awkwardly cut black hair that swoops just above furrowed eyebrows. San doesn’t know what to say, but it turns out he doesn’t need to figure it out.

“Who are you?”

The soft voice doesn’t match the scary expression, and San knows he shouldn’t, knows that he’s only making it worse, but he huffs out a surprised laugh and tilts his head in wonder. It isn’t until he realizes the kid is still glaring at him that he finds it in him to speak, “Your mom asked me to help you.”

The kid stares at him for a while, silence filling the air between them. “That doesn’t answer my question, weirdo.”

San blinks in confusion, still distracted by the way the other’s cheeks are puffed a little as he pouts. It dawns on him seconds later what the question actually was. “Oh! Right, I’m San! I live down the hall.”

“Well, San, you scared me and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Ah, yeah. Sorry about that! Do you need help, though?”

The kid looks down at the box he’s still resting on and sighs. When he looks up again, his face seems a lot softer and San has to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. “Honestly, yeah. I think I do.”

He stands up and brushes off his knees before sticking his hand out in front of him, “I’m Yeosang, by the way.”

San smiles and grips the other’s hand in his own, “Nice to meet you, Yeosang.”

The smile he gets in return is small, a little incredulous maybe, but, “Yeah, you too, San.”

There’s a lingering moment where their hands stay folded together between them, and San only takes a second to wonder why his cheeks feel hot all of a sudden before he lets go and points at the box on the ground. Yeosang must understand the look in his eyes because he nods and crouches down, fitting his hands around two of the corners. San follows shortly after and on a count of three they both lift the box with twin groans. As they maneuver themselves through the front door, San looks over the top of the box, momentarily distracted by Yeosang’s furrowed brow. His eyes catch on the birthmark next to Yeosang’s left eye as he asks, “Really, though, what’s in here? A small city?”’

Yeosang laughs at that, and San thinks about what he could say to hear it again. He snaps back to the present when Yeosang replies, “They’re books.”

San’s eyebrows shoot up at that. This box feels like it might weigh more than him and it’s full of bound paper? “What kind of books could you have that weigh this much?”

“Are you really curious or do you just want to make fun of me?” And wow, San really doesn’t like the way Yeosang looks away from him in a moment of insecurity.

San likes even less the way Yeosang’s shoulders hunch in, eyes downcast and mouth pursed. He shakes his head almost violently, accidentally losing balance and nearly dropping his side of the box. He manages to readjust his grip, thankful that the sudden--if embarrassing--movement gets Yeosang to look up at him again. San clears his throat and starts moving through the apartment, Yeosang trailing along with him.

There’s a brief (awkward) silence.

Then, “I hope if you learn anything about me, you learn I’m not really someone that likes to make others feel bad.”

San feels Yeosang’s eyes scrutinizing him in response and he briefly wonders if this is going to end badly. If Yeosang is going to feel uncomfortable and tell him to leave. He hopes not.

Finally, once they’ve made it to a fairly empty bedroom and set down the box by the bed, Yeosang speaks, “you’re pretty weird.”

San shrugs helplessly, ready to make his escape. “I get that a lot.”

“It’s alright,” San feels his cheeks heat up again at the sight of Yeosang’s smile. “I think I like it.”

A deep voice most likely belonging to Yeosang’s dad sounds from around the corner, asking them if they want a snack. Before San can ask if he’s allowed to stay, Yeosang grips his wrist and starts tugging him toward the kitchen.

He ends up helping Yeosang look through all of the books until his mom calls him for dinner.

********

San is fourteen and Yeosang is his best friend.

“What are you guys doing after school? I want to come!” Jongho is glaring at them from across the lunch table, arms crossed and looking something akin to an angry bunny. San hides his grin behind his hand briefly before making a show of sighing dramatically.

“It’s top secret.” From the way Yeosang’s eyes are twinkling, San knows he’s just as amused. Jongho, however, not so much.

When it looks like Jongho is going to storm away from the table, San reaches across and pats his arm. “We’re just gonna stop by the bookstore on our way home. You got bored last time we invited you, remember?”

Jongho knows San is right, but the look he gives means he’s going to deny it anyways. “You guys just want to go on your date without me, I get it.”

Yeosang nearly spits out his drink, coughing hoarsely. Concerned, San rubs his back and gives it a few firm pats. He ignores the way Jongho is smirking at them and asks, “don’t you have a math test next period?”

The fearful look on Jongho’s face and the way he flies out of his seat, no doubt on his way to his locker to retrieve his notes, has Yeosang giggling. San laughs too, trying to ignore the residual blush dusting the other’s cheeks.

Later, when they’re leaving school and walking in the direction of the family-owned bookstore down the road, Yeosang asks him his least favorite question. “So, Sannie, we’re turning fifteen this year. Have you thought about what kind of picture you’re gonna get?”

Hoping to dispel some of his own discomfort, he shoves the other lightly and jokes, “You ask me this all the time, do you have short-term memory loss or something?”

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t keep asking if you’d just give me a straight answer! I told you mine.”

Normally, San would tease Yeosang about how none of this soulmate stuff was in their control anyways, so who cares what anyone wants as a picture? You could want a sunset and get a leprechaun in his boxers insead. His _normally_ is being defeated by the angry pout on the others lips, though, so he sighs and says the first thing that comes to mind. “A race car.”

The way Yeosang barks out a laugh is worth it. “That’s such a dumb boy answer, I hate you.”

They finally reach the bookstore. San holds open the door for Yeosang and whispers an exasperated _love you, too_ under his breath as they duck inside.

Truth be told, San isn’t all that excited to get his soulmark. If he’s being honest he’d probably say he’s more excited to study for his English test than be one step closer to what will essentially be a cosmically arranged marriage to someone he doesn’t know.

 _“But it’s romantic!”_ He remembers the distraught look on Yeosang’s face the first time he’d spoken truthfully about how he feels. The other always has his head in a novel, most of which are romanticized tales about star-crossed lovers and happily ever afters. There has been more than one night where San has listened to Yeosang gush about the future, about what his soulmark might look like and who his soulmate is going to be. San always listens with his eyes closed, happy that there is a topic that can make Yeosang ramble for more than two sentences even if said topic makes him want to curl up and sleep forever.

San watches Yeosang flit from aisle to aisle, pile of books in his hands steadily growing taller. Amused, San leans against the _J_ through _K’_ s of the mystery section and remarks, “you could always save up for a Kindle or something. E-Readers are all the rage, I hear.”

“E-Readers are for fake fans,” Yeosang mutters as he flips through the pages of a book with a colorful cover. His eyes are focused as he takes in the font size and chapter lengths. Mouth screwed to one side in thought, he finally shakes his head and places it back on the shelf. “What’s the point of reading a book if you’re not going to commit to the whole experience?”

It’s hard to keep the smirk off his lips as he replies, “I think your shelves back home would thank you.”

A scoff. “My shelves are well-loved, thank you. Besides, mom said she’d get me another bookcase for Christmas, so there’s no excuse not to get a few more friends to spend time with!”

San doesn’t think there is anything more precious in this world than the fact Yeosang refers to his books as friends. Early in their friendship, Yeosang would attempt to downplay his love of reading. He doesn’t like to talk about the time before he moved, but San knows it hadn’t been pleasant which never fails to break his heart. He takes pride in the work he’d done to ease the other’s defenses.

As he waits by the front counter for the elderly owner to ring up Yeosang’s purchases, San studies the birthmark on the other’s face. He resists the urge to brush it with his thumb. He has trouble explaining his melancholy to himself as they leave the bookstore and start towards home.

********

San is fifteen and he hates his soulmark.

He rubs at the half-finished star briefly before pulling his sleeve back down all the way to his fingertips. His mom calls for him, making him groan. He wants to go back to sleep.

He halts when he sees Yeosang awkwardly standing by the front door with his arms crossed. His mom whistles lowly and excuses herself to the living room.

Silence sits between them like an electric fence. One wrong move and someone is bound to get shocked. Surprisingly it’s Yeosang who takes the risk.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He looks uncomfortable, a deep-set frown marring his features and yeah, San feels like a major asshole but what can he do about it, really? He’s about to make things even worse considering he doesn’t have a solid answer to Yeosang’s question.

He tries anyways. “I’m just stressed. You didn’t do anything, I promise.”

From the look on the other’s face, it isn’t good enough. Yeosang steps closer with his jaw clenched, “Listen, if you- if you don’t want to be friends anymore-”

“What? No! That’s not- you’re my best friend, now and forever.” San is panicking, he doesn’t know what to do to fix this. He doesn’t know what to do to fix himself.

Yeosang looks like he’s regretting coming over, body turning towards the door and _no_ this is not what San wants. He reaches forward and encircles his hand around Yeosang’s wrist, decidedly upset with the way the other flinches. Yeosang’s skin is warm against his palm.

Tugging lightly, he pleads, “bedroom?”

There’s a moment before Yeosang concedes, if a little reluctantly.

Once they’re in San’s room and the door is closed, silence engulfs them again. They sit on opposite ends of the bed, centimeters feeling like kilometers between them. San stares at the place on his arm where his mark is, hidden by the fabric of his shirt. It makes him angry, suddenly.

He stands abruptly and starts pacing. Knowing Yeosang, the other is probably alarmed by the sudden movement. If he hadn’t previously been concerned with San’s mental state, he definitely is now.

“San?”

“It hurts, Yeosangie,” San rounds on him, eyes filled with tears. He feels scared and angry and unsure but mostly he just feels _tired_. “I know you’re excited about your soulmark, I know you think I should be, too. But I’m not and seeing you so happy about it _hurts_. I don’t know why, but it hurts so much.”

Yeosang looks at him with wide eyes, mouth agape. There’s a tense pause where they just stare at each other and San wishes more than anything that the ground would swallow him whole. He barely registers the hand grasping his own, pulling him back to the bed.

They sit like that, side by side with their fingers intertwined. San closes his eyes and thinks about the partial treasure chest on Yeosang’s ankle. He thinks about his own mark. He thinks about how they don’t match and how they _should_ , if this stuff about soulmates was true then-

Oh.

“Oh,” he murmurs, tension leaving his shoulders in sudden defeat.

He feels Yeosang shift next to him, feels the other’s grip on his hand tighten. “Sannie, please. I miss you so much. It doesn’t feel right when you’re not around.”

There’s a moment where San turns his head and looks at the other. He silently runs his eyes over Yeosang’s features, the downturn of his lips, the way the corners of his eyes droop in concern. The way he stares in question as San brings up his free hand to brush away his bangs from his forehead. He looks confused.

He returns the kiss San gives him, clutches the other’s hand tighter.

“What are we doing?” he whispers against San’s lips.

San is too overwhelmed to voice his _I don’t know_ as he presses their mouths together again.

********

San is seventeen and he is in love.

He can barely hold in his laughter as he looks through the sliding door to their balcony and takes in Yeosang’s grin from the other side. The other is standing with his hands on his hips, chest heaving like he’s out of breath. San opens the door and pulls him inside, the momentum making him trip over his own feet and causing them to land in a pile on his floor.

Yeosang pushes himself fully on top of him and giggles, digging his chin into San’s chest. Shaking his head, San wraps his arms around Yeosang’s shoulders and demands, “How’d you even get to my balcony? You know mom doesn’t care when you come over!”

There isn’t an immediate answer as Yeosang rubs his cheek against San’s t-shirt and sighs contentedly. Finally, he offers, “I read it in a book and thought it was romantic. Turns out it’s just really scary.”

Laughing incredulously, San hauls both of them off the floor and pushes Yeosang toward his bedroom, happy that his parents had decided to go on a date tonight. He ignores the indignant _hey_ he gets when he shoves Yeosang onto the bed and plops into his desk chair. He starts working on his homework again and grins to himself knowing Yeosang probably wants to strangle him for it.

He’s only partially right since Yeosang pads over and drapes himself over San’s back with a whine. He wraps his arms around San’s neck from behind and sags slightly, unintentionally cutting off his air supply. San wheezes and tugs at the other’s arms in mock desperation. Laughing, Yeosang stands and spins the chair towards himself. He sits on San’s lap and gives him perfected puppy-dog eyes.

San hates when he plays dirty.

Giving in, he abandons his homework once again and wraps his arms around Yeosang’s waist with a pout. He’s only slightly (okay, majorly) placated by the kiss Yeosang places on it. 

“So,” San starts, “What brings you over here?”

Yeosang sighs dramatically. “I didn’t know I needed a reason to see my boyfriend. So sorry, I’ll make sure to book an appointment next time.”

San digs his fingers into Yeosang’s sides, relishing the angry yelp he gets in response. Yeosang pushes at his shoulders and concedes, “Alright! You win, I have news.”

There’s a dramatic pause before he continues, one San can’t help but roll his eyes fondly at. “I may or may not have gotten my acceptance letter into SNU.”

The words don’t register at first, which explains why Yeosang is looking at him with slight trepidation. Finally, San’s brain catches up with him and his eyes widen. He practically squeals as he tackles Yeosang onto the ground. “Sangie! I knew you’d get in I _knew_ it! You’re the smartest person I know, there’s no way you weren’t going to get in! I can’t believe I’m in love with the smartest person on the planet-”

“Stop, I get it!” Yeosang’s tone in firm, but he’s practically beaming. San takes in the crinkled corners of his eyes and can’t stop himself from planting kisses all over the other’s face. He’s convinced there isn’t any sound more beautiful than Yeosang’s delighted laughter as he tries to get San to cease his attacks.

Later, when they’re curled up on San’s bed, Yeosang decides to broach an entirely different and much less pleasant subject.

“My mom asked me about it again.”

San’s grip tightens around Yeosang’s middle. He hides his face in the crook of Yeosang’s neck instead of responding. Sometimes he really hates Yeosang’s need to communicate everything. He would never wish for the other’s protective shell to reform, but a weaker sense of responsibility would be nice.

Yeosang is stubborn, though. “San, we can’t keep ignoring this.”

Sitting up, San scoots back until he’s resting against the headboard. With his knees pulled up to his chest he remarks, “I don’t know why this even needs to be a conversation. We’re not registering our marks so why does it matter?”

Silence.

He looks down at his forearm where Yeosang had haphazardly drawn the other side of his star with a sharpie the other night. The muscles in his jaw tick painfully before he realizes he has it clenched. He whispers fearfully, “you aren’t going to, right?”

“San,” Yeosang says, voice thick with something San can’t recognize and it exhausts him. “I don’t want to upset you-”

“Then, please, can we not have this conversation?” He knows how others view their relationship. He’s seen the pitying looks from their parents, the mocking stares from classmates, the eyebrows raised in disapproval from teachers. In a world where your perfect match is so easily accessible, why would you settle for less?

The question makes San laugh, because anyone other than Yeosang will always be settling for less. He can prevent the hurt if he doesn’t try to figure out whether Yeosang feels the same.

Yeosang doesn’t respond. Instead, he sits up and rests against San’s curled up form and presses a light kiss to his shoulder. He thinks he hears a whispered _sorry._

********

San is still seventeen when he gets his heart broken.

He’s in Yeosang’s kitchen and his breath is halting just below his throat, lungs pressing closed from the pressure in his chest. His fingers tremble as he grips the papers in his hands so tightly they threaten to crumple. He doesn’t dare look up at where Yeosang is turned away from him and leaning against the kitchen counter.

The silence is broken by a rough voice that he vaguely recognizes as his own, “how could you do this?”

“I tried to tell you,” Yeosang’s voice is tight, the tail end of his sentence cutting off as he gulps in air. “I tried so hard to talk to you about this and you just wouldn’t _listen_ to me. My mom was insistent, I couldn’t just-”

“You couldn’t what?” San slams the papers back onto the table and finally looks at him. The anger rising up surprises him. “You couldn’t think for yourself? Or is your mom just an excuse? Are you still hanging onto those dumb fairytales you cling to?”

He knows he’s being harsh. He knows these are words that are arrow-sharp and designed to cut, to draw blood. He sees it in the way Yeosang’s shoulders hike up to his ears and his fingers grip the edge of the counter. He’s hurting him, but he can’t stop. Not when he feels as though he’s hurting so much more.

He looks back at the wrinkled papers.

_Congratulations Mr. Kang! Your soulmate has been located using our algorithm-_

“This was never going to last.” Yeosang’s voice wavers, as though he doesn’t believe his own words. San doesn’t care because he’s still saying them.

Within seconds, his anger is replaced with desperation. He walks around the table and towards Yeosang’s taut figure. A vice squeezes his heart like a plastic bag ready to burst when Yeosang wrenches his arm away from San’s outstretched hand.

Everything is slipping away, he’s without a boat or a raft or even a life vest but he still reaches out for a tiny thread, any kind of lifeline. “It isn’t too late, please-”

“Sannie.” Yeosang turns to face him, eyes wide with unshed tears. San’s heart begins cracking down the middle, pain searing through him. “I’m leaving for SNU next month. I think that’s the cleanest goodbye we’ll be able to get.”

The words are meant as a consolation. They only make San feel worse.

He leaves with heavy steps, heart emptied from his chest. He slams his front door as he races for his room, ignoring his mother calling his name. Once inside his bedroom, he spots the opened acceptance letter to Yonsei University and feels tears spring in the corners of his eyes.

The long distance hadn’t scared him. Physical distance didn’t mean anything if you were willing to work for what you wanted, what you loved.

Yeosang was only a house away at the moment, and yet he might as well have moved to another planet or galaxy or universe, far from San’s reach.

********

San is eighteen when he tries to move on.

He runs his fingers over the three points on the inside of his forearm, marker ink long faded and leaving behind half of a star. He presses down on the middle point with his thumb and closes his eyes.

“Uh, hi? Are you San?”

San looks up and sees a boy standing in the open doorway to the dorm room. His hair is bright purple and his eyes look curious behind wire-framed glasses. San drops his arm and nods sheepishly, offering a small smile.

The other grins brightly in return and makes his way into the room, hand outstretched. He says, “I’m Wooyoung, your roommate! Nice to meet you.”

 Immediately after introducing himself, Wooyoung starts asking a million questions (What do you want to major in? Are you a morning person? I saw a really cool diner just outside of campus, wanna go sometime?) and San briefly thinks that maybe things will be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the second part!! whereas the first part was told in snapshots of San's childhood, this chapter takes place a year after the end of last chapter within the same general time frame (San's second year of university).

San is nineteen and he’s okay.

He’s studying earth system science, a topic he loves. He’s doing well in most of his classes, spending sleepless nights with Wooyoung in the campus library or downing cups of coffee at the local cafe. He likes to think he’s well-liked by the majority of his class, regularly attending parties and playing makeshift football games on the brightly lit sports field every Thursday night. He has a slight caffeine addiction, but in relation to everything else it’s nothing more than a minor obstacle, a slight twitch of his eye during his environmental geology lecture.

So, objectively, he’s okay. Better than okay, he’s great.

At least that’s what the post-it note he’d stuck to the inside cover of his planner broadcasts to him whenever he goes to read over his assignment due dates. He has this theory that if he reads it enough times then the words will ingrain themselves onto the surface of his brain. By that point he’d have no choice but to believe them, right?

“-ou listening to me?”

He blinks away the questions floating behind his eyelids and takes in the concerned look Wooyoung is throwing his way. The other is rubbing a towel over his damp hair, newly dyed blond strands falling across his forehead when he finishes. Sometime between entering the room and San disappearing into the depths of his own overthinking, Wooyoung had pulled on a probably-clean t-shirt and ripped jeans. He still looks concerned.

Hoping to sidestep giving an actual answer, San warns, “You know, if you keep bleaching your hair, your scalp is going to have revenge on you one day.”

Wooyoung lets out an indignant yelp and tosses his towel in the direction of his hamper. It misses and lands in a heap half a meter away. “My relationship with my scalp is none of your business!”

“You’ll be taking that back when you end up bald,” San mutters under his breath, narrowly missing the notebook Wooyoung flings at him in reply. “Hey! Inflicting papercuts is not the answer to your anger!”

Rolling his eyes, Wooyoung changes the subject. “Now that you’re back on earth, do you still want to meet up with the lovebirds for coffee?”

San withholds his wince and offers a close-lipped smile. Feeling bitter towards your friends is never flattering and San isn’t about to expose his lack of emotional maturity. “I said I’d go, so that means I have to or Yunho’s going to spam my messages with accusations of betrayal and cruel lies.”

That earns a giggle from Wooyoung, mostly because it isn’t an exaggeration. They’d forgotten to meet up with Yunho one time during first year and they still hear about it to this day.

As they slip on their shoes and head out the door, San relays the message to himself one more time.

_I’m okay._

  ********

The cafe is fairly crowded for a friday afternoon, most students either done with or skipping their end-of-the-week lectures. He overhears a table by the entrance talking about a party off campus tomorrow night and makes note of it, not too modest to think he won’t be invited by the end of the day.

He feels Wooyoung tug at the hem of his jacket and follows the other’s line of sight to where Yunho and Mingi are sitting on a small couch in the far corner, mugs ignored on the accompanying coffee table as they curl toward one another with lovesick smiles.

If San wasn’t San, if he was someone with less lingering kindness in his heart, he would probably be gagging right now. But he is indeed San, so he huffs out a laugh and follows Wooyoung over to the couple.

Wooyoung’s voice is teasing as he says, “this is a public area, guys. Keep it family-friendly, maybe?”

Yunho’s gaze snaps over to them, a delayed _whatever_ falling from his mouth even as he leans further into Mingi’s space. Mingi offers them a friendly grin and waves the hand that isn’t drawing soft patterns into Yunho’s bicep.

San returns the smile silently. _I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m-_

“Hey, I’ll go order our usual, alright?” San nods, thankful for Wooyoung’s unintended interruption. He tugs over a bean bag chair and falls into it lazily. He observes the couple in front of him and briefly wonders how they haven’t suffocated yet with the way they’re practically breathing in each other’s exhaled carbon dioxide.

Back up. Time to turn his science major brain off.

It only takes a few minutes for Wooyoung to return with two mugs, handing one to San as he forcefully squeezes next to him on the bean bag chair. San doesn’t even try to protest, just gives into the way Wooyoung flings a leg over his lap like it belongs there. He takes a sip of his own drink as his eyes fall on the swarm of planets clustered around Mingi’s exposed collarbone, saturn’s rings dipping beneath his shirt.

San and Wooyoung had met Yunho in their first-year English seminar. He’d been easy to get along with, the owner of a bright smile and hands that gestured wildly whenever he talked. By the second week of classes he had become a permanent fixture in their dorm room and the three of them were being referred to by their peers as the three musketeers.

The topic of soulmates hadn’t come up much in the beginning. It was always a conversation that San dreaded, something he still feels justified in whenever he thinks about the instance it finally occurred. Yunho had told Wooyoung and San one night when they were playing an intense game of Uno on their dorm room floor that he was choosing to not register his mark. He wanted to find his soulmate the organic way. There was something beautiful in serendipity and as a literature major he liked looking toward ideals.

The conversation had ended in a heated debate about the validity of soulmarks and the concept of fate.

It’s safe to say that San and Yunho saved their friendship by agreeing to disagree. Wooyoung hadn’t said much that night, choosing to leave in the middle of the argument to go buy more snacks.  

The topic had mostly laid to rest since then, only coming to surface in the form of snarky comments or light-hearted jokes. Until two months ago when Yunho had brought Mingi to one of their move nights, the two wearing matching grins and cheeks rosy with an excited blush. Mingi had apparently transferred from Seoul National University and asked Yunho for directions to his history lecture earlier that day.

Some people, San supposes, get to have a fairytale ending.

He’s brought back to the present with a nudge from Wooyoung who jerks his chin in Mingi’s direction. He ignores Wooyoung’s whispered _you’re really up in the clouds today, huh?_ and gives Mingi his attention. The other doesn’t look offended by the accidental ignoring, choosing to brush it off and repeat his question, “Did you hear about the party tomorrow?”

San likes Mingi. He likes him a lot, in fact, and he’s happy for Yunho nearly 98% of the time. The two of them are a textbook case of why soulmates exist, why people believe in the concept and why society is able to push it as the romantic ideal. The ugly, broken part of San despises their relationship just as much as he adores it.

That part of him shrinks a little more every day, though, and it doesn’t stop him from painting a smile on his face as he nods. “I heard some people talking, you know who’s throwing it?”

Mingi absentmindedly pulls Yunho against his side as he replies, “Yeah, it’s being thrown by a graduate from SNU. He was my tutor when we both went there and he recently moved into a sweet apartment nearby since his soulmate goes here. He said I could bring friends, you guys down?”

There was immediate assent among them, Wooyoung’s arms shooting outwards in excitement and nearly spilling his coffee. San laughs at him and takes the mug out of his hand before they both get third degree burns. He doesn’t fight the grin that blooms on his face at the other’s antics.

_I’m okay._

********

Jongho’s name flashing across his phone screen is always a welcome sight. Not many people can bring a smile to San’s face as easily as the younger no matter the topic of conversation (and maybe it’s because he enjoys teasing him, but Jongho can’t prove that). He picks up on the third ring, “Greetings, Choi.”

“Salutations, Choi,” he can hear Jongho’s grin through the phone and feels his own stretch wider. “Any plans for tonight?”

San falls backwards onto his bed, his legs hanging off the side. “A super fun college party your mom will never let you go to.”

A huff. The other is definitely pouting when he replies, “She wouldn’t need to _know_ that I’m going to a party! She thinks you’re a saint so if you tell her-”

“Jonggie, your mom has a sixth sense for this kind of stuff. And I don’t know if I want to corrupt your youthful mind with the goings on of college nightlife.”

Jongho snorts derisively. “You really love stretching that year difference between us.”

“It’s my favorite thing about our friendship,” San remarks cheekily. The door opens and Wooyoung enters the room, eyebrow raised in question as he slips his shoes off. Tuning out Jongho’s growing list of complaints about San’s lack of respect, San mouths _my son_ and stifles a laugh behind his hand. Wooyoung gives a knowing nod, the corners of his mouth quirking into an amused smirk as he collapses onto his own bed and pulls out his laptop.

“Is someone there?” There’s an unasked addition to Jongho’s question which San hears loud and clear. _Is Wooyoung there?_

Jongho will deny it up and down until the end of time, but San thinks his crush on Wooyoung is adorable. Even if part of him feels bad every time his roommate asserts his belief that Jongho is just a kid, the responding offense on Jongho’s face is usually pretty hilarious.

He decides to limit his teasing to save his ears from the whining that would surely ensue and replies, “Wooyoung just walked in. Now, are you done yelling at me?”

There’s silence and then: “Maybe, if you let me go to the party.”

If you were to look up the word stubborn, a picture of Jongho would be the top search result. Along that same vein, if you were to look up the word undeterred, you’d get a picture of San.

“You’re applying to Yonsei, right?” He hears a reluctant grunt and takes it as confirmation. “Well, since I’m positive you’re going to be accepted, I promise to take you to as many parties as possible next year. You know, when you’re here and I’m sure your mom won’t hunt me down because you missed your curfew.”

There’s no hiding Jongho’s dissatisfied grumbling as San waits for a coherent reply. Finally, “Buy me lunch tomorrow and we’re even.”

The prospect of traveling back home while hungover makes San grimace, but he knows an ultimatum when he hears one. He’d rather not go through another period of ignored phone calls and petty text messages. “Deal.”

He can feel Wooyoung’s eyes on him as he hangs up a few moments later. Checking the time, he sees they have a little over an hour before they’re meant to meet up with Mingi and Yunho on the main floor. He thanks his mind-reading (or more precisely, Wooyoung-reading) abilities and suggests, “Closet raid?”

Wooyoung’s grin is answer enough.

An hour and piles of strewn clothing later, San stands in front of their mirror with his head tilted. He has on one of Wooyoung’s collared shirts, the front tucked into black jeans and the top few buttons undone. His fingers carefully fasten a plain choker around his neck, running over it a few times to make sure it isn’t twisted.

There’s a moment where his eyes meet Wooyoung’s through the mirror. San watches him shrug on his own distressed denim jacket with an approving grin. Quite the pair they make, huh?

Moments like these are when the _I’m okay’s_ branded behind San’s eyelids feel the most genuine. He isn’t given much time to contemplate this, though, because a quick glance at the clock hanging on their wall tells them they’re nearly five minutes late and Yunho will have at least one sarcastic remark prepared for their arrival.

Careless giggles travel between them as they leave the room with heads held high.

********

Mingi hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d described his friend’s apartment as _sweet._

 _Opulent_ or _way out of any recent graduate’s price range_ seems more fitting to San who is standing in front of one of the more expensive apartment complexes in the area. He feels Wooyoung nudging him excitedly, hears Yunho chastising Mingi about how he should’ve provided a stronger warning.

“Uh,” San starts, watching as another group of vaguely familiar students walks through the front entrance, “is this like… _wow I got a really good job_ money or _wow my dad has a really good job_ money?”

He receives a snort in response and then, “More like the third choice: _wow my dad has a really good job and made sure I have one, too_ money. Now enough of this, let’s go inside!”

By the time they reach the heart of the party, the hallway outside the elevator is packed with college kids. San briefly wonders if anyone else even lives on this floor or if the other doors lining the walls are just for appearances. They reach the open doorway of the apartment and San is somehow even more taken aback by how spacious it is. People are sprawled on a cluster of couches in the middle of the living room, some people dancing around them while the rest huddle in small groups with lips idly pressed to plastic cups.

Mingi leads them further inside, a few hello’s tossed their way as they reach a spiral staircase that takes them up to the apartment’s loft. San counts four people once they’ve climbed to the top. Two are sitting cross-legged on the floor, bottles of beer balancing precariously in their laps, and the other two are leaning against each other on the wide bed.

The taller of the two on the bed notices them and gives them a brief look of annoyance before his eyes find Mingi. The annoyance transforms into easy friendliness quick enough that San experiences mild whiplash. His voice booms and San wonders if he’s the only one that notices the way the other person on the bed flinches at the sound. “Songbird, you made it! And you brought some friends, nice.”

San holds back a snort at the way Yunho mumbles _songbird?_ in amusement.

Mingi’s voice is practically a whisper in comparison. “It’s been a while, man. I was pretty surprised when you sent me the invite.”

The guy brushes off the comment with a smirk and wraps his arm tighter around his companion. He waits in silence a few moments, eyebrow raising in unknown expectation.

Thankfully, Mingi seems to understand. “Oh, right! Guys, this is Doyoon. Doyoon, this is San, Wooyoung, and my soulmate, Yunho.” The introduction is punctuated with a hint of pride that makes San smile just a little.

Doyoon nods in acknowledgement and San wonders if he’s imagining the way the his eyes linger on Wooyoung before he speaks, “Nice to meet you guys! These are my buds, Minjae and Soobin. And this,” he emphasizes his next words by tightening his grip on narrow shoulders, “is my soulmate, Hongjoong.”

A small hand waves at them, accompanied by a pretty smile and hesitant eyes. San picks up the flecks of discomfort in Hongjoong’s irises and wonders which of them is the cause.

Already bored with whatever Doyoon is choosing to say next, San decides to make his escape and ducks around Yunho to get back to the stairs. He feels a little bad leaving Wooyoung, but the other is free to follow him to freedom.

It takes some maneuvering to navigate past the various clusters of drunk kids, a feat not without its own sacrifices. He thanks whatever gods exist that the person he bumped into moments ago ended up spilling alcohol on Doyoon’s pristine floor instead of Wooyoung’s favorite shirt.

Finally, he ends up in the entryway of a pretentiously elaborate kitchen (who actually uses a pasta maker?). There are a few scattered people milling around, one of them bent forward and examining the contents of the double-doored fridge. San makes out a few tufts of bleached hair as said person calls over his shoulder, “Yeo-Yeo, there’s apple cider in here! That sound good enough?”

The reply halts every one of San’s thoughts in their tracks.

“Yeah, sure! Anything to wash out the taste of lukewarm soju in my mouth.” A giggle that has echoed at the fringes of San’s mind for the past year follows and he’s certain he would break apart if he wasn’t frozen stiff.

Against any and all sense of self-preservation telling him to turn and leave, San’s eyes skate across the kitchen and land on a painfully familiar face.

Yeosang hasn’t noticed him yet. He’s sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar and smiling even as he wrings his hands nervously. His hair is dyed chestnut brown and pushed away from his forehead and he still hasn’t noticed San standing two meters to his right. He’s too busy sharing a fond smile with the guy at the fridge and life is one fucked up joke because the first thought that comes to San’s mind is _if that guy is your soulmate why would he take you to a party? Doesn’t he know crowds make you anxious?_

San hasn’t swallowed a single drop of alcohol but he thinks he’s about to throw up.

The guy at the fridge stands up straight with a small bottle of apple cider and the air feels stale, solid in San’s mouth because the guy is handsome, almost infuriatingly so. His hair is so blond it’s nearly white with soft bangs falling into sparkling eyes, and he has a jaw that could cut glass. San watches as long legs take him over to Yeosang, watches as he hands over the apple cider before leaning forward with a hand resting on the breakfast bar close enough his arm brushes Yeosang’s shoulder. Yeosang’s free hand is clutching at his own thigh, fingers digging in slightly. It’s a nervous tic San is familiar with; he used to grab Yeosang’s hand and rub the tension out of it with his thumb.

_Does he know to do that? Why did he bring you here?_

_Why are you here?_

Feeling nauseous, San slowly backs out of the kitchen and tries to shake the stiffness out of his limbs. The atmosphere around him feels heavy and the people surrounding him are too close. He needs space to breathe and think and calm down.

“San? Hey, you good?”

He looks up and into Wooyoung’s concerned eyes. He grabs the other’s wrist without replying and drags him through the crowd and down the hall. San finds the bathroom and pulls Wooyoung inside. The closed door muffles the music beating against the walls outside, mutes the cacophony of conversation and laughter.

“San,” Wooyoung looks like he might panic, eyes running over San’s body as if he’s going to find open wounds or broken bones. It feels too dramatic to tell him there’s no way to see his broken heart.

It doesn’t feel possible to verbalize his thoughts or feelings, not when he can’t even explain them to himself. He’d spent the past year and a half reconnecting the pieces of his heart and allowing it to scar over until the pain had dulled and he could get through the day without imagining the way Yeosang’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He nearly laughs at himself, because how pathetic is it that he’s still hung up on his high school sweetheart when Yeosang has clearly healed and moved on?

He decides to take pity on Wooyoung, though, since he doesn’t want to have to call an ambulance because his friend keeled over from worry.

San leans against the counter and takes a deep breath. “Did I ever tell you about Yeosang?”

Wooyoung slides down the bathroom door until he’s sitting comfortably on the tiled floor. “You haven’t told me much, just that you were friends before college?”

Good job, San, making it seem like Yeosang was an inconsequential part of growing up.

“Well,” San starts, “he was a little more than that. A lot more. We were uh, we dated for over two years and it ended just because-”

He pauses. Swallows dryly. Tries again.

“We don’t have the same soulmark. I never cared about that, but...”

“He did, huh?” Wooyoung is observing him with something akin to sympathy in his eyes, the look edging into pity and San can’t take that so he nods and looks away.

There’s silence and then Wooyoung asks, “What brought all this on, though? You broke up a while ago, right?”

The question makes San laugh a little wildly because, really, what did he do in a past life to be living through such ridiculous circumstances?

“He’s here, Youngie. He’s here with his soulmate in the fucking kitchen and I just can’t do this, I should be over it. I know I should, but I saw him and it felt like being punched in the gut and I can’t do this tonight-”

“Okay, okay! Okay, Sannie,” Wooyoung interrupts, “Let’s go home then. I’ll send a text to Yunho and let him know you weren’t feeling well and we’ll just bounce.”

Not for the first time, San feels grateful to have Wooyoung.

In a timeline where San gets to win every once in a while, they leave the bathroom and make a beeline for the front door. Wooyoung slips an arm through one of San’s as they wait for the bus and then they curl up in the back of the vehicle and watch the streetlights pass by in bright blurs. They get back to their dorm and squeeze next to each other on San’s bed, watching movies on Wooyoung’s laptop until they pass out, and in the morning they don’t talk about it.

That timeline is not this one, though.

Wooyoung swings open the bathroom door and takes an abrupt step backward, a curious “yeah?” on his lips because someone is waiting right outside. San tenses at the “uhm, I just, uh, saw-” that is stuttered in response and peeks over Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Yeosang is standing just beyond the doorway and is shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. His eyes catch San’s and there’s a brief flash of something across his face that makes San’s heart clench with the desire to reach out. He holds back and stays behind Wooyoung.

Clearing his throat, Yeosang looks at the floor and asks, “Could I maybe speak to San? Alone?”

It’s the last thing San wants to do. He wants to shake his head and brush past the other, wants to go home and wallow in bed so he can wake up tomorrow pretending nothing happened. He wants to be able to finally move on.

But he’s San and this is Yeosang, so he gives Wooyoung a small nod. Looking apprehensive, Wooyoung nods back before he slips past Yeosang and disappears back into the crowd.

Nothing is said for several agonizing seconds, until: “Could we go outside? There’s a little courtyard out back.”

“Does your soulmate know where you are right now?” San cringes at his own question, angry that he couldn’t keep it from slipping out. The way the corners of Yeosang’s eyes tighten makes him feel worse.

He doesn’t want to do this.

Yeosang clears his throat and says, “Seonghwa isn’t relevant right now. Please?”

There’s a weight settling in San’s gut. _Seonghwa._ How is _Seonghwa_ not relevant?

Regardless, San concedes and follows Yeosang through the crowd and out of the apartment. The ride down the elevator is excruciating. San feels trapped even as the doors open to the main floor. It doesn’t dissipate until they step through the back door and are greeted with the crisp night air.

Yeosang leads him down a stone path to a dimly lit courtyard decorated with lush flowers and stone benches. They sit down on one, taking opposite sides with their hands folded in their laps.

More silence. San refuses to speak first.

_I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay._

Clearly Yeosang doesn’t know what to say, because the first thing out of his mouth is a stilted, “How are you?”

_I’m not okay._

San shouldn’t laugh, but he does. He cuts himself off when he sees the way Yeosang curls slightly into himself. He shakes his head and answers, “Right now? Not that great. What do you want, Yeosang?”

_You always wanted to talk things out. I’ll let you this time, but you have to take the reigns._

Understandably unsure where to begin, Yeosang starts rambling, “Seonghwa knows Doyoon because they took dance together last year. The train ride was kind of long, but this place is really nice. I feel a little weird because I don’t really know Doyoon or anyone here except Seonghwa. At least, that’s what I _thought_ but then I saw you in the kitchen and then suddenly you weren’t in the kitchen, right? And I thought maybe I imagined something until Seonghwa commented on it. And then, I don’t know, my body kind of moved on its own and I followed you. I don’t uh- I don’t know what I’m doing. Right now. Can I know how you are?”

San eyes the way Yeosang is wringing his hands and clenches his jaw. “A friend of mine is a transfer from SNU and brought us along. I’m fine, Yeosang. Going to college, studying myself into the ground, usual school stuff.”

Yeosang nods without looking at him. There’s more silence. San wants to get up and leave.

So he does, until he feels a hand roughly grab at his wrist. He looks down at Yeosang with wide eyes and breath caught in his throat. The other is wearing a similar expression and, realizing what he’s done, pulls away like he’s been burned. “San I- Please. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave, yet. I… I missed you-”

“You missed me? How can you say that?” San doesn’t recognize the anger bubbling up inside of him. It scares him, but this feels like a cruel nightmare and he doesn’t want to look at Yeosang ever again. All he sees is the teary smile the other had given him when he’d said goodbye.

Yeosang stands up so quickly he stumbles. His voice shakes when he responds, “I’ve missed you this entire time. I know you probably hate me and I don’t blame you. But I just wanted you to know. I didn’t think I would see you again except maybe if we bumped into each other at home, but I stopped going home a while ago so-”

There’s too much happening, too many words being thrown at him and San doesn’t know how to process it alongside the overwhelming anger eating him from the inside. He steps away from Yeosang to try and create some space between them and shoves his hands into his pockets. What is he meant to do in this situation?

An ugly thought comes to the surface of his mind and makes him snort. He gets it now. “You feel guilty, right? You feel bad for hurting me back then and you saw the way I reacted in kitchen and you’re trying to ease your fucking guilt. Well, sure, Yeosang. I accept your apology. Now just let me-”

“San!” Yeosang’s tone shuts him up. The other has tears in his eyes but his voice is firm. Determined. “This was always one of our problems! You don’t ever _listen_ to me and just start making decisions about what I’m feeling or what we’re doing and I just. I need you to listen to me now.”

The words hurt him. They hurt him because he hears the truth in them as much as he doesn’t want to admit to it. It’s at this point that the prospect of going home starts to lose its appeal. The last time they’d parted ways he’d had some fragile sense of closure. He doesn’t want to leave walking on broken glass and harsh words.

He ignores the way Yeosang’s shoulders drop in relief when he sits back on the bench. Silence wraps around them again, something San is growing tired of.

It feels like a year has passed before Yeosang speaks again, but San lets him take his time. He’ll be patient. “I thought when I said goodbye that I was doing us a favor.”

The confession causes San’s anger to simmer, but he tamps it down. He nods haltingly.

“We were happy. I know we were, and I know that’s what you remember. But there were bad parts to it, too. The judgment we were receiving hurt so much. It felt like everyone viewed us as this ticking time bomb, like they were waiting for the clock to run out so they could say their I-told-you-so’s and use us as an example. I wanted to prove them wrong, San. And I tried. But this anxiety just kept growing. It started to feel like we were messing with fate and doing something wrong. My mom would bring it up weekly, and then nightly, and then every chance she could. It got to the point where I never wanted to go home because she wouldn’t stop pressing, wouldn’t stop telling me I was ruining my future. I just. I couldn’t do it, anymore. I wanted to be normal.”

San can’t find it in himself to respond, because he knows all of this. This is the truth he’d spent their entire relationship running from out of a desperation to prolong their end. He knows all of this, but it still hurts to hear it confirmed. It hurts even more to know Yeosang had been alone in his fears and ended up internalizing it.

He opens his mouth to try and form any kind of reply, but Yeosang cuts him off. “I’m so sorry, San. I- I let everyone else get in the middle of something that made me feel safe and secure and happy, I let what others think hurt you and push you away and I’m just. I’m so fucking sorry.”

His body reacts before his mind does, turning toward Yeosang and reaching out to wipe at the tears falling down the other’s cheeks. San scoots closer, ignores the way Yeosang flinches at the sudden contact and keeps his hand where it is. He can’t come up with anything to say but, “I’m sorry too, Sangie. I’m really sorry.”

There is as much devastation as there is comfort in knowing that San has not been the only one suffering.

Time seems to slow down and then speed up again, and suddenly they’re hugging. Yeosang’s face is pressed into the crook of San’s neck, tears wetting the collar of his shirt and clenched hands wrinkling the fabric at his back. He turns his nose into Yeosang’s hair and closes his eyes. A forgotten warmth washes over him at the contact and his first thought is _I still love you_.

His second thought makes him pull away.

Yeosang is looking at him in fearful confusion so he reminds him, “As much as I think we both needed this, you have someone else now.”

There’s a moment where the confusion doesn’t leave Yeosang’s face, and then something unexpected happens.

Yeosang starts laughing, clutching at his stomach in near hysteria. Alarmed, San scoots backward on the bench and wonders if the other is experiencing some kind of mental break. “Sangie? Are you-”

“Sannie.” The other’s eyes are full of rueful humor, mouth curled into a self-deprecating smirk. “Me and Seonghwa? Not in a relationship.”

Pause. San needs time to process.

Alright. Press play.

“Is this some sick fucking joke, because I swear-”

A hand curls around one of his in a gesture that shouldn’t be as calming as it was over a year ago. “Seonghwa is my soulmate, but we realized a few months in that we are never going to see each other the way we’re supposed to. So, yeah, in a way it is kind of a sick fucking joke.”

There’s another pause and then, almost as an afterthought, “If anything, it’s proven to me that maybe platonic soulmates exist, because I love Seonghwa a lot. Just. Uh. Hashtag no homo?”

San stares at him for a full minute and then bursts out laughing because holy fuck. Yeosang bites his lip hard in an attempt to keep composure before he’s dissolving into giggles again. They lean against one another, foreheads resting on each other’s shoulders as they come to terms with the situation they’re in.

Eventually, once they’ve calmed down enough, they pull away and look into each other’s eyes. Their hands rest still intertwined between them.

Without the shocked humor from before, San feels an uncertainty fill his chest. He expresses it, because he’s tired of running from the things that scare him. “Where do we go from here? What about your mom and just? Everyone else?”

The soft smile that Yeosang gives him soothes the tension spreading through his muscles. It lets him breathe calmly as the other answers, “I think if we want to fight for it, we can go anywhere.”

San is nineteen and he’s looking toward new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, well, I hope you enjoyed! I'm actually looking at turning this into a series, surprise!
> 
> I've introduced a few established/potential pairings in this that i'll be exploring in other connected stories! this will include yungi, woojong(?), and seongjoong. I might also write a bonus story that's like this one but from yeosang's perspective. 
> 
> So, yeah, I hope this is a universe that interests you guys because I'm excited to explore it some more!! thanks for reading xx
> 
> oh!! i have a new-ish twitter acc for my writing lol follow me if u want @sunshinejoong


End file.
